24 Hour Bug
by graywords-girl
Summary: JackChloe 'If you get sick because of this, I am NOT taking care of you' Chloe's come down with a 24 hour bug. Who else but Jack can help? One Shot


**24 Hour Bug

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Pairing: Jack/Chloe

**Disclaimer**: 24 and all related characters including Jack and Chloe do not belong to me in any way, shape, or form… Are you happy now!

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For the first time in several months, Jack Bauer was sleeping peacefully. No nightmares, no 'half-awake-alertness', nothing of the sort. He was actually sleeping. He had been for nearly eight hours, the longest time he had been able to close his eyes since before Teri had died. Usually he 'slept' in short bursts of three to four hour intervals here and there. Any longer and his body would either force him awake out of habit, or something big would happen (usually involving CTU) that would thrust him into the conscious world. 

He hadn't been expecting to fall asleep, really. He had come home at around 11 the previous night; after Buchanan had told him in a blunt tone, "Go home. Sleep. You can come in tomorrow whenever, just make sure you actually look human," and then had him escorted out of CTU. He had wandered home, eaten, and then had fallen back on his bed to rest up for the next day. And then slept for eight hours.

He probably would have slept longer, had he not been woken up by a persistent ringing. His phone. His home phone, as a matter of fact, which meant it was either A) Someone close to him (he could count the number of people that fell into _that_ category on one hand) or B) Someone trying to kill him. Probably B, knowing his luck. With grunt, he grabbed the receiver out of its cradle and muttered a greeting.

"_Jack_?" For a minute, he didn't recognize the voice. He had to search hard in his mind to figure out who it was, but it eventually came to him.

"Chloe."

"_Yeah_." It was her all right, but she sounded different. Her voice was somewhat muffled, and she sounded tired.

"Are you alright?"

"_I'm_-" she broke off into a fit of coughs, and he blinked tiredly, his mind still somewhat foggy from sleep. That was why she sounded different. "_Jack, I'm sick_."

He sat up and ran a hand through his hair, shifting his grasp on the phone. He could now clearly hear the hoarse sound in her voice-raw from coughing- and the congestion was clear. She sniffled a bit. "Do you need anything?"

"_No, no, that's okay_." She nearly cut him off, and he smiled. He knew she wouldn't accept; she was like him in that aspect, she never liked accepting help. "_Look, could you do me a favor_?"

"What is it?"

"_I need you to call Mr. Buchanan for me_." She coughed again, and this time it was followed up with a groan and a muttered, "I hate this," before she continued. "_I tried already, but his phone's been busy all morning. And I'm about to take some medication that I'm pretty sure will knock me out for the rest of day. Please_?"

He chuckled softly. "Yeah, I can do that. Are you sure you'll be alright?"

"_I'll be fine. It's just a 24 hour bug_." She sneezed this time. "_Hey, I'll see you tomorrow, okay_?"

"Alright. Feel better, okay?"

A snort. "_Not likely. Bye Jack_."

She hung up, and he listened to the dial tone for a moment before following suit. He was somewhat worried; she didn't get sick often. And when she did, it was usually just a mild cold. "Nothing worth missing work," she'd tell him. So, for her to call in sick-or have him call for her, in this case- was pretty rare, and therefore worth some concern.

He would call Buchanan for her, as he had promised, but there _had_ to be something else he could do. She was there for him-anytime, anyplace- and he felt that he owed her, even just a bit. An idea popped into his head, and it brought a small smile to his lips.

* * *

"Ugh." Chloe sat up with a moan and instantly regretted it. Her head was _pounding_, and her entire body felt like it weighed like a ton of bricks. Stealing a glance at her clock (after wincing at the bright neon numbers) she realized she had only slept for a few hours. Not at all what she had planned on. She wondered briefly if she could take more Nyquil- maybe she had misread the dosage, or perhaps it wasn't as strong as she had thought. Her clouded mind tried to recall the tiny numbers on the bottle, but to no avail. 

With a grunt, she swung her bare legs out of the bed and shivered slightly. It was hot, she knew, but she also knew a fever when she sat-or rather felt- it. She had already opted to wear nothing more than a slightly oversized tank top and her undergarments, but she was still sweating. Hot and cold flashes; not fun.

She stumbled towards the bathroom, still shivering, and snapped her eyes shut when she turned the light on, causing her head to throb in pain. After a minute, she forced them open and stole a brief glance in the mirror. She regretted it.

Her skin was paler than she had ever seen it-to the point where she would have given Snow White a run for her money- and it was doused in sweat. Her hair was drenched, as well as her shirt, and both were sticking to her. Her eyes were red and swollen, and she could hear herself wheezing badly. And her hands were shaking, she noted, when she reached up to open the medicine cabinet.

Her vision was blurring, and she felt dizzy. She dropped the idea of taking more medicine almost immediately. She wouldn't be able to read the bottle, couldn't remember the dose she was supposed to take, and chances were she'd drop the bottle and spill the contents everywhere if she tried to open it. Instead, she pulled herself back towards her room, passing through the living room.

As she was about half way through, however, things began to spin. Every pore in her skin felt like it was on fire, and she could barely breath. Small spots of black had appeared on the edges of her vision. She stumbled forward, blindly reaching for something-anything- to steady her.

All at once, her strength gave, and she fell forward onto the carpet. Consciousness slipped away almost instantly.

* * *

Being impatient was something Jack was good at. Specifically at traffic. He loved LA-enough to live there, at least- but the traffic was horrible, and probably gave DC or New York a decent run. At this point, things were inching along at a pace a snail could probably pass, due to an accident. And it had been inching along for almost an hour. (It didn't help that the accident that had occurred had taken out the traffic lights for that particular intersection, and as of yet, no one had been sent to direct traffic.) 

After another ten minutes of sitting there, he finally decided there was no point to waiting, as the mess would probably not be cleared for at least another hour, and pulled out into another lane and moved to take a back road. He had long ago memorized all, or at least most, of the different routes to Chloe's home. She was good company when she tried to be, and she also had a bouncy seven year old niece that reminded him of Kim when she was little, who was constantly being sent to Chloe when things got out of hand at her home.

He was pulling up in front of small house before he realized-he should have thought of the back road earlier. Her house was nice, despite the fact that it was barely big enough for _anyone_ to live in. She kept a small garden in front, which she had told him was started so Mia- her niece- would stop watching the same episodes of Spongebob over and over again (the theme song drove Chloe insane), and go outside.

The heat wasn't helping the flowers, he noted, as he wandered towards her door, using the spare key she had given him. ("For god's sake, Jack, you practically live here anyway. At least now you wont have to pick my lock if I'm not here or asleep.") Inside, it was dark, and he was nearly shocked at how much hotter it was inside than out. All her shades had been drawn, and all the lights were off.

"Chloe?"

No answer. _She might be sleeping_… he thought, glancing around. He debated with himself for a moment over whether or not to turn on a lamp, and finally reached over and hit the switch on the wall. The sudden light was somewhat blinding, but refreshing. He made his way to the living and his heart nearly stopped beating.

She was sprawled on the floor; face down, unmoving. Her skin was pale enough to nearly glow in the dark, and the only real sign that she was alive was the fact that every minute or so she'd cough in her sleep. He moved fast, dropped to her side and grabbed her arm to turn her over, and then hissed softly and pulled back. She was burning. Her fever had broken 100 degrees a while ago, clearly. He turned her over carefully, and she muttered something incoherent under her breath.

Her skin glistened with sweat, but she was shivering, which alarmed him. The room temperature was lower than her body temperature; her house was hot. Bad sign.

Gingerly, he lifted her into his arms, and was startled at just how light she really was. Chloe had a petite body, but he had never actually had to carry her before; he had expected her to be heavier. He set her down on the couch and then moved to the kitchen, wetting down a washcloth in icy water. He placed it against her forehead, and then gently brushed aside a few strands of her drenched hair.

"Damn it, Chloe…" he muttered, softly. He was seriously considering a trip to the hospital. Her fever was high; he had to give her something to break it, and soon. He was hesitant to leave her, even if it was only for a minute, but he still pried himself away to move to her bathroom. There, he raided her medicine cabinet, scanning over a few labels. He found something suitable quickly, took the right amount of pills, and then moved to the kitchen.

He quickly poured a glass of water, and then crushed the pills into a powder and dropped them in. Then, he propped her up against him, noting she stirred a little at that, and steadied her.

"Chloe, can you hear me?"

An incoherent mumble, but a definite response. She was still faint, but she was there. He tightened his grip lightly and pressed the glass to her lips. She resisted a bit, but he refused to let her move too far. "Come on, Chloe. You have to drink this."

She stopped protesting at his voice, and let him carefully pour a few sips of the medicated water down her throat. She swallowed, and he repeated the process until the entire glass was empty. When that was done, he lifted her up again, this time to move her to her bedroom. She titled her head slightly, so that it rested comfortably in the crook of his neck, which made him jump a bit, but sigh in relief anyway. At least she wasn't limp.

He set her down in her bed, covered her, and then replaced the washcloth on her forehead. She gave him a small, groggy smile, before fading back into sleep.

* * *

She woke up again a few hours later, confused and dazed. She sat up slowly and blinked. Her headache had eased back, and she felt stronger. Looking around, she found a cloth on her pillow, and confusion set in quickly. There was a knock on her door, and she jumped in surprise. 

"Uh… come in?" she called, hesitantly, and the door opened before she finished. Jack took a step in and looked her over carefully.

"How are you feeling?"

"Jack?" she questioned, ignoring her question. She placed a hand on her forehead, feeling for a fever. She felt surprisingly cool. "I'm must be delusional."

He chuckled and came over to her side of the bed. "No." he stated, smiling softly.

"What are you doing here?"

"You don't remember?"

She shook her head, and jumped a bit when his hand swept over her forehead.

"Your fever's down; good." He nodded and took the cloth from her hands. "I came over to check on you. You fainted."

"…oh." She had no real response to that, other than a questioning look that plainly stated, 'And you actually took care of me?' He placed a hand on her shoulder.

"How do you feel about food?"

Her brow furrowed in thought, and then she looked at him with that lopsided smile of hers. "I'm hungry." He laughed, openly, and it sounded nice to her. He stood, helped her up, ignoring the fact that she was half naked, and led her out towards the kitchen, where he'd already set up a small meal for them to share. She glanced out a window and gave a noise of alarm.

"Did I sleep _all day_?"

He glanced back at her, and then followed her gaze. It was dark outside. "Yeah, pretty much."

She grimaced, and he took her arm and led her away from the window. The small meal was soup and crackers for her, and toast and coffee for him. They ate in silence, neither really sure what to say, or even if they wanted to say something. After ten minutes of nibbling on crackers, her soup only half way finished, Chloe pushed away her food and smiled at Jack, who was sipping his cold coffee.

He stole a glance at his watch and winced. It was well passed eleven already, and traffic hadn't been at all pleasant that day. It was going to take a while for him to get home. He stood, rinsed out his mug, and then made his way to her front door. She walked him there.

"Thanks, Jack." She stated, opening the door for him, and he gave him a small up turn of the lips.

"It's alright."

And awkward silence followed. Both knew he should be leaving now, but neither really wanted him to go. Chloe bit her lip and tugged at the end of her shirt, suddenly self-conscious, and he held her eyes carefully, reading and analyzing them.

And then, all at once, the door slammed shut, and she fell back against the door, sandwiched between the hard oak and his body. His lips were on hers, over and over. She responded, trying vainly to keep his pace, while her hands found their way around his neck. She tried to pull away- there was something important she needed to say; something she needed to point out. But when he crushed his lips against hers again, it was lost from her memory. Her thoughts slowed to the point where she forgot her own name; she was too close to him. Everything about him was intoxicating, flooding her sense. She lost all focus. She barely noticed as he lead them towards the living room and then fell back on the couch, pulling her with him.

Ten minutes later, (a very pleasant ten minutes filled with a make-out session that could make most teenagers blush) her breath had finally returned, and her mind began to catch up with her, and she remembered that, yes, she did indeed have a name. She was comfortably squished between him and the couch now, her head resting against his chest, listening to his still chaotic heartbeat. His arm was around her shoulders, stroking her hair.

She remembered suddenly what it was that she needed to point out. She tilted her head up, looking at him, and he glanced down through half-opened eyes. "If you get sick because of this, I am not taking care of you."

He just laughed and hugged her a little tighter. "Go to sleep."

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_Author's Notes: XD There we go. All done. I've been working on this one on and off for… two week, maybe? I dunno. It kept me busy, so…_

_Anywho, _**Please review**_! I'd like to know how much it sucked, rocked, whatever. And… yeah, I know it seemed kinda rushed. I think so too…_


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